Across the ages, their passionate yet dangerous bond has remained unbroken. She has known him by many names as Mairon the Admirable, Annatar the Lord of Gifts, as the sinister royal counselor in the last days of Númenor. As a demi-god in disguise, a...
The seabirds were mating for the season, flapping hysterically against the cliffs and scattering feathers to the wind. Luimëníssë swung precariously over the crevices, collecting eggs while the mother birds were distracted. Gently putting her delicate discoveries into the netted bag that she used for pearl diving, she pulled herself up onto the edge of the cliff.
Evening had brought a light shower to the harbor, the waves pockmarked with rain in the gray dawn. After an hour, it had cleared and the light from Laurelin shown out over the coast. Her silver hair bound in a tight braid and clad in her white hose and loose tunic, Luimëníssë closed her eyes and fell back onto the grass.
It had been three days since the festival and three nights of feasting at the home of her grandfather Lord Olwë to celebrate their guests. The Lords Finwë and Fingolfin, Írissë's father and grandfather, were more gracious than their offspring. However, in their conversations with her father, she sensed tension. All was not well in Tirion, though her parents avoided discussing the matter with her. Naretarnon was often in the company of the impossible Atarinkë so she didn't want to ask him for fear she would receive more snide comments about her ignorance.
Artanis proved to be a fine companion though. She was like Nanwë, more inclined to study instead of exploring, but they both enjoyed weaving. As Artanis said, Írissë proved to be less taxing when it was just the three of them. The huntress was almost likable, quicker to laugh than the grave Artanis. Still, Luimëníssë felt a great divide between her and her Noldorin cousins. Her Aunt Eärwen was right, she was Teleri through and through.
A seabird squawked, diving for her in vengeance over it's lost eggs. Sitting up and swatting out a hand, the bird flew away. Gathering her things, she discerned a faint cry against the crash of the surf.
Someone was hollering for help.
Luimëníssë crouched at the edge of the cliff and peered down into the waves. Around that particular inlet, a strong current ran along the surface. The Teleri were aware of it and steered clear, teaching their children how to escape if they were ever caught in the furious suction.
A dark head emerged from the surface, a hand flailing in angry protest against the waves. As though their iron will alone would sway the sea itself. But Luimëníssë knew there was no escaping the rip tide. The elf would surely drown unless someone helped.
Tucking her bag of eggs between the crevices, Luimëníssë climbed down to a lower ledge and leaped into the air towards the frantic splashing. She cut through the surface, bubbles rippling around her. The violent current caught her body and threatened to drag her towards the cliffs, but she was a strong swimmer, even more so than her own mother.
She gripped the swimmer by the wrist and pulled up. Through the foam, she screamed out against the ocean.
"Hold my hand, we must dive under!"
Luimëníssë kicked hard, tugging the distressed swimmer down into the cool deep. The roar of the waves muted as the water stilled. When her lungs could take it no longer, she swam them both to the calm surface closer to shore. They both gasped as they broke into the bright, morning air.
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